


Thicker than Water

by prettybirdy979



Series: Thicker than Water [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Drama, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-05
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/pseuds/prettybirdy979
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's favourite brother hasn't always been there, but he's been there when it counts. For that matter, so has Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on the kinkmeme. There's at least another two chapters written, with more to come. Thanks to elvendork_lee for betaing!

Sherlock is four years old when he exposes his father’s affair to his mother.

It was an accident, Sherlock hadn’t realised that the details Mycroft had been teaching him to observe weren’t to be stated over the dinner table. All he had done is ask his father why he had a photo of Nanny’s new baby in his wallet with his photo of Mycroft and Sherlock. His father had spluttered and started yelling at him, but Mummy had stood up to defend him and in the resulting confusion Mycroft herded Sherlock to his room. Where he had detailed exactly what Sherlock had done wrong with his observations, and why he should have just waited.

“Knowledge is power, Sherlock. Remember that.”

That night Sherlock plays his violin on the roof in an attempt to escape the yelling.

********

Sherlock is eight years old when he meets his almost four year old half-brother, Martin Crieff. Martin is ginger haired, has the same blue grey eyes as Sherlock does and upon seeing Sherlock, hides behind his mother’s leg. Sherlock is standing by his father, his hand being held to stop him running off. He doesn’t understand why he has to be here, there’s a far more interesting dead bird under his bed than the scared child before him.

Martin’s mother places a comforting hand on his head, and glares at Sherlock’s father. “Your son, as requested, for one week.”

“Thank you.” Sherringford Holmes says his voice a monotone.

“Why now? You were perfectly happy for Martin to be raised as George’s before.” She suddenly states, clearly trying to delay something.

“I have my reasons. Come here Martin.” Sherringford addresses the child who is just starting to peak around his mother’s leg. At the sound of his name, he darts back behind it.

“Martin, sweetie, you have to go with this man. It’s just for a little while, and then you can come back.” The woman bends down to hug her son, pulling him into her chest. She turns her face to Sherringford. “You’re a bastard, you know Sherry.”

Sherringford just holds out his hand for Martin. A silently crying Martin is handed over.

“Be good for Mr Holmes, Martin. I’ll see you so soon.”

Sherlock looks on in disgust. This is going to be a very long week.

********

Martin stops crying when the house comes into view. Sherlock, who has been sitting beside him the whole time, sighs in relief. He glances over at his half-brother and is surprised to see him pressing his face against the window.

“Ith that your houthe?” Martin speaks quietly, and with a very obvious lisp. He points at the gardener’s house.

“No, that’s the gardener’s house.” Sherlock snaps, annoyed. “Our house is over there.”

Martin’s eyes open so wide, for a second Sherlock wonders if they’ll pop out. “That’th tho big!” Sherlock just huffs in reply.

********

For the first two days Sherlock barely sees any sign of his younger brother as he has more interesting things to do. The third day, however, is the day Mummy finally finds the bird under his bed and removes it. While she and father fight again, Sherlock sulks in his room.

“I’m thorry.” A sad voice suddenly whispers from beside his bed. Sherlock rolls over and finds himself face to face with Martin, who has a familiar paper bag in his hands.

“Why? You can’t possibly believe it’s your fault my parents are fighting?”

To Sherlock’s surprise, Martin nods. “It’th alwayth my fault. Thimon thaid tho.”

 _Thimon? Oh Simon. Another brother?_ “Simon’s your older brother.”

Martin’s eyes open up wide, awe in his voice as he speaks. “How did you know that? I didn’t tell you. You mutht be really thmart!”

“Hmm. He’s wrong.” With that, Sherlock rolls back over.

“Therlock? Do you want thith?” startled by his own lisped name, Sherlock rolls back over to see Martin holding out the bag. “I thought it would make you happy again.” He is not making eye contact with Sherlock, and when Sherlock doesn’t respond he sadly puts the bag on the bed and walks out.

It suddenly clicks for Sherlock where he has seen the bag before. It is the bag Mummy put his bird in when she threw it out.

He reaches out slowly, and grasps the bag.

********

Martin leaves soon after that, and Sherlock doesn’t get the chance to…well he’s not sure what he would have done but it may have even been nice.

********

Martin’s visits are an annual event, and correspond with an increase in Sherlock’s parents fighting.

It doesn’t help that each time he visits, Martin looks more like Sherlock. Martin is clearly going to be shorter than his brother, and he has his mother’s ginger hair but otherwise there are very few differences between the brothers. They are both spitting images of their father, and Mummy hates it.

It is during Martin’s third visit, when he has just turned seven that Mummy’s hatred of Mrs Crieff comes to ahead.

Sherlock is not in the room when the yelling begins, but he arrives in time to see Mummy start to throw the priceless vases. Deducing the situation, he retreats to his room.

Only to be stopped by the sound of crying when he opens his door. Curled up on his bed, is Martin who is crying, and hugging Sherlock’s pillows. He starts at the door opening, and meets Sherlock’s eyes.

“Sorry.” He whispers. He has lost his lisp, but gained nothing in the way of volume. It is clear Martin has none of Sherlock’s intelligence nor is he as interesting and dominating as Mycroft but at least he has stopped pretending to be an aeroplane. Now he carries a stuffed toy of one around, and makes aeroplane noises with it when he thinks no one is looking.

“Why are you crying?”

Martin looked surprised. “I’m not crying.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and steps closer to the bed. “Your eyes are red and wet, your nose is running, your body language says sad and you’re in my room, hugging my pillows. You are crying.” Sherlock frowns. “Why are you in my room?”

The seven year old looks down. “It’s safe. No one would look for me here.”

The sincerity behind the first statement surprises Sherlock. Martin actually feels safe in his room. “Why are you sad?”

“I’m a bastard.” Martin breaths out. He pauses for a second then suddenly he starts speaking very fast. “Your Mummy said so, and Mycroft told me what it means. And I want to go home, but I can’t because your Daddy said I haveta be here and no one likes me here…”

It is the most Sherlock has ever heard his younger brother say. He is unsure of what to say and simply stands and stares at the upset child. A small part of him wants to hug Martin.

Sherlock slowly leaves the room. He does not tell Martin to leave.

That night, Martin pockets his after dinner chocolate instead of eating it. Sherlock finds it by his breakfast place the next day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than the first one... but it was the only place to stop. Betaed by elvendork_lee -Thanks! =)

Father has been trying to make Sherlock more sociable like Mycroft pretends to be, so he has been signed up for football games. It is the last day of Martin’s third visit when Sherlock has his first practice.

It is so utterly boring. Sherlock does not want to be there, but since he has to be he figures he might as well do it well. But the other boys are so stupid! They take forever to learn simple things, and miss obvious points or gaps. And whenever the coach isn’t looking they throw annoying, meaningless insults at him.

They still hurt for some reason, and that makes Sherlock mad at himself. _They’re idiots! Ignore them._ One yells “bastard” and Sherlock is suddenly reminded of Martin’s teary face. He storms off the football field.

By the time the driver picks him up Sherlock is quite willing to maim one of his ex-teammates. Mycroft has explained many times why this is a bad feeling, especially when he starts to actually plan how to do it but it’s not his fault. If only they weren’t so _boring_. He doesn’t stop as he storms into the house, slamming doors as he goes. Sherlock catches a glimpse of Martin as he breezes past, plane in hand and frozen in surprise. Mycroft is coming down the stairs as he goes to his room, and he tuts at Sherlock as they pass. In one tut, he manages to convey his feelings at Sherlock’s inability to ignore the idiots who are his peers.

Sherlock throws himself onto his bed and begins to beat his head against his pillows. _Why must everyone be so dull?! Why can’t they just think?_

 _Why are they so mean?_

His door quietly opens and a small body slips in. Sherlock can hear the pad of feet as Martin approaches his bed. To his surprise, Martin doesn’t say anything but just stands there. The silence drags out for what feels like ages, before Martin makes a quiet whine. There is more padding of feet as Martin moves close and then the bed sinks on that side.

Sherlock freezes when a pair of small arms winds around him from behind him. One hand comes around to his front still clutching the stuffed plane Martin adores. It proceeds to place the plane in Sherlock’s hand, pushing the hand close to Sherlock’s body so he is hugging it while Martin hugs him. Despite himself, Sherlock feels his body relax.

“I love you Sherlock. You’re much nicer than silly old Simon and boring Mycroft.” The small voice in Sherlock’s ear must hold some sort of magic power because how else can it make him feel so…warm.

“What about Caitlin? Am I nicer than her?”

“I…Caitlin is… she’s a girl.” The hands clutch him tighter.

Sherlock just hums in reply. The brothers stay together like that on Sherlock’s bed until Mummy calls them for dinner.

Martin leaves his plane behind when he returns to his own home. He doesn’t need it as much as Sherlock does, he reasons.

After all, Sherlock doesn’t have any friends and Planey is a very good friend.

********

Sherlock’s Mummy puts her foot down after Martin’s fourth visit. If Sherringford wants to see his bastard of a child he can, but she doesn’t want him in her house. Mycroft breathes a sigh of relief; he has no trouble making his dislike of Martin clear. He is quite glad the ‘brat’ will no longer be underfoot every year.

Sherlock is not happy. Martin is as stupid as the rest of the world, but somehow he isn’t as annoying as the rest of them. He has a form of charm, something that makes him as not _boring_ as Mycroft is, despite his lack of intelligence.

And so, every year he accompanies his father to a hotel room in Fitton for a week to visit Martin. For some reason, Father is never around during these visits leaving the brothers alone in the hotel for a week.

It is glorious. Martin may be less intelligent ( _not dumb)_ but he always does what Sherlock asks, no matter how outrageous. He never corrects or judges like Mycroft, and is quite happy to talk endlessly if Sherlock refuses to instead of trying to reason with him like Mummy does.

If only he would pick a different topic to prattle on about. There must be only so much a person can say about aeroplanes. If there is, Martin is yet to find this point. And yet, his prattling never becomes annoying.

Even as they get older, and Sherlock develops an interest in chemistry and loses interest in even the least boring of his peers, he still goes to visit Martin. They spend the week together, Sherlock performing his experiments while a barely teenaged Martin underlines bits in his flight books in red.

********

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock barely raises his head from his book. This is a very interesting book on bees and he wants to finish it before he leaves tomorrow. “Hmm?”

“Are you coming to visit next year?” Sherlock blinks as he realises what Martin means. Next year he will be in University and Father has already made it clear he is not coming. He hasn’t come for a few years now, and Sherlock knows even if Martin isn’t sure that Father wants nothing to do with his illegitimate child anymore.

“I don’t know Martin.”

“Oh.” It’s surprising how much heartbreak fourteen year old Martin can put into one word. “If you can’t…do think it would be okay…maybe, if I was to visit you? I mean, I could pay for everything out of my pocket money and I wouldn’t be embarrassing or anything, I just don’t want you to forget me, not that you would forget me I don’t think-“

“Martin.” Sherlock cut Martin off before he got a rhythm going. “I would not mind terribly if you visited me.”

Martin’s grin was large enough to look almost demented. Sherlock felt an answering grin on his own face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may be more of a wait between this chapter and the next while I figure out a few details in the next chapter.

A knocking on his dorm door is not normally enough to entice Sherlock to move. It’s not enough this time, even when the person at the door keeps knocking. He has no desire to speak to the nitwits who share this building with him. Though that Sebastian doesn’t seem as stupid as the rest… 

“Sherlock?” a quiet voice, in complete opposition to the frantic knocking, calls out and interrupts his thoughts. Sherlock is on his feet and at the door before he even processes it. That is Martin’s voice, but the data must be wrong because-

He opens the door to find an exhausted, slightly scared looking Martin on his doorstep. Sherlock quickly takes in the data- Martin has a bag with him, clothes he has been wearing for a few days at the least and is holding himself stiffly. His eyes also have signs of recent crying.

Conclusion- he failed his latest pilot’s test, got into an argument with his parents and has fled his parents’ house. He is stiff from sleeping on the bus ( _no buses, no bus would get him this far_ ) and scared from walking the streets of the city at such a late hour. Martin may be nearly nineteen but he so often seems like the four year old Sherlock first met.

Why he came to Sherlock is a complete mystery though.

Martin has been silent the entire time Sherlock observed him. Now he gives Sherlock a pleading look, as if begging to stay. Sherlock moves out of the way in silent agreement. His room has only one bed and is completely cluttered with experiments and papers but Martin doesn’t seem to care. He just dumps his bag on the only clear space and collapses on Sherlock’s bed. He grabs one of Sherlock’s pillows, curls up slightly and breathes in deeply.

“That was your third attempt at getting a licence. What happened this time?” Sherlock sits down on the end of the bed, but on the other side so he can look at Martin’s face.

“You can deduce I failed, but not how?” Martin snaps, and then sighs. “Sorry Sherlock, it’s just… this one wasn’t my fault. The examiner… he took a dislike to me. And he marked me so hard for it. The only way to pass was to be perfect and I’m not perfect… nowhere near it.”

Sherlock notices the small tear Martin blinks out but chooses not to comment. “And the argument with your parents was over the waste of money and time again?”

Another tear. “Yes.”

“Something was different this time. You don’t normally catch the bus across the country after a fight with your parents.” Sherlock tilts his head to look at his brother, carefully observing every detail. “This fight was bigger than the others. You angered your Dad somehow; more than usual and he said something rash.”

“Mum actually.” Sherlock groans mentally. _There’s always something_. “She said…she said I was just like my father, I didn’t care about anyone else.” A hiccup. “A right bastard.” The tears are flowing freely on Martin’s face now.

Sherlock takes a second to bask in the feeling of being _right_ before he realises he has to do something to comfort Martin. For a moment his is out of his depth, before a memory comes to him. He stands and searches though an unpacked box. Finding the item he wants, he offers it to Martin as he resumes his place on the bed.

“Here. I believe this makes you feel better.” Martin’s eyes widen at the toy Sherlock offers him.

“Planey? But…I left that behind for you when I was seven. Why do you still have it?”

Sherlock is caught off guard. “Because you gave it to me?” he asks, unsure of the correct answer.

Martin suddenly smiles through his tears. “You do know you’re my favourite half-brother…favourite brother…no favourite sibling, right?” he sits up, so now they are both sitting on the edge of the bed, facing another. “You actually care…at least I think you care… you do care, of course you care you kept Planey.” He looks at Sherlock so earnestly, face covered in tears but smiling at the thought Sherlock _cares_.

Sherlock feels like someone has kicked the world out from under him, despite Martin’s stumbling over his words. He blinks in surprise and Martin takes that as a sign. He clears the distance between them and wraps his arms around Sherlock. Sherlock is used to Martin’s hugs, but this time he returns it without prompting or a long pause.

He still has Planey in his hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too sure of this chapter... This was all written using research and I don't know if I did it justice.

_Stupid, God Damned Mycroft. How dare he?! I need them, they help me survive. I can’t live without them._

 _HOW DARE HE CONTROL MY LIFE?!_

********

Martin isn’t used to living away from home yet. He’s also not used to sharing with people who aren’t his family and have their own little ticks and habits. For that reason, he’s taking the attic room- means having less to do with everyone. Besides, once he gets his licence, he’s going to get a job as pilot and then he can get out of here.

So when someone starts knocking on the door to his room, he is very confused. The other students normally just yell…

Pulling up the trap door, he is shocked when Sherlock drags himself into the attic. His eyes are darting around and he’s smiling widely.

Martin sighs. _High again. But…why is he here?_ “Sherlock?” he asks.

“Martin!” Sherlock swings his arms around Martin in a fashion of a hug, but it’s not…not a hug. Not a Sherlock hug.

“You’re high Sherlock. I’m not talking to you while you’re high.” Martin points at his bed. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

********

Three hours later, Sherlock starts screaming. Martin is in the shared kitchen when it starts, and is able to signal to his housemates he has it covered. He sprints up the stairs and races up the ladder.

By the time he reaches his bed, Sherlock is awake and while the screams have stopped he is crying. As soon as Martin comes into sight, Sherlock is before him running his hands over his brother, checking for injuries.

He breathes a sigh of relief and then twitches. “Martin…”

“Why are you doing this to me Sherlock?” Martin pushes his brother back onto the bed. This is the most sober he has seen Sherlock in a year, and he plans to take advantage of it. He takes a seat on the bed beside him.

“Doing what?” Sherlock is still twitching, looking from one side of the room to the other.

“Hurting me. I love you Sherlock, you’re the best brother I have. But I can’t watch this; I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

Sherlock closes his eyes for a second, before snapping them open. “I can’t be bored, Martin. I can’t handle being bored.”

“Find something to do then! You could fly a plane; or umm… build planes. Read books? Find some sort of hobby?”

Sherlock huffed a small laugh out. “Still can’t think of a hobby beyond flying, can you Martin?”

“It’s not a hobby, it’s a job. A career. Which is more than you have...” As usual, Martin speaks without thinking. Sherlock barely has time to be offended before Martin is stammering an apology. “Oh God, I’m so sorry Sherlock, I didn’t mean that.”

He is hunching in fear, clearly expecting Sherlock to yell or worse, leave. Sherlock does neither, but simply moves closer to his brother. After a second, Martin lays down so the brothers are lying side by side.

The room is silent for a few minutes before Martin suddenly breaks it. “Do you remember when I ran away and showed up at your dorm? How you took the week off and we went to London? We spent three days getting as lost as possible before you would deduce your way back. Or the hours we spent trying to get from one side of the city to another without using a main road. Oh, and the day we spent at the airport; you talking your way into as many secure areas as possible so I could admire the planes. Do you remember that?”

Sherlock does. It was in the days before Sebastian, before he realised how boring everything is and before he found the cocaine that spares his mind from all this. And yet, the warm feelings the memories create in him are far better than any high he’s experienced.

“I wish…” he whispers. He never gets to complete the thought because it is that moment the trap door to Martin’s room opens.

Mycroft pokes his head in. “Ah, there you are Sherlock. I was worried.”

Martin sits up. “Why? He’s safe, with me. We can look after another; it’ll be like when he used to visit.”

“Ah but Martin, Sherlock needs help far beyond your…capabilities.”

“Do go away Mycroft, I can handle this.” Sherlock suddenly states. “I don’t need your _help_.”

“I believe you do. After all, it wouldn’t do for Martin to fail his next pilot’s exam because he couldn’t study while you detox.” Mycroft said a hint of menace in his voice.

Martin freezes in shock, while Sherlock sits up quickly. “You bastard.” He whispers, his eyes flashing. Slowly he gets up, while Mycroft smiles in triumph. He makes Sherlock stop, while he descends the ladder from Martin’s room.

Before Sherlock leaves, Martin stops him. “I’m sorry…” without warning, he hugs his brother.

Sherlock hugs back tightly.

********

“Two cases.” Sherlock bursting into Mycroft’s office is both unexpected and unprecedented. Mycroft quickly runs through the events of the last week to try and deduce what Sherlock would want in return for working two cases. His hand is itching to grab the weekly Sherlock report, but he resists.

“Three.” No harm in upping the price, and giving him time to deduce what Sherlock want-

Sherlock frowns, and then smiles, followed by a return of the frown- all in the space of a second or two. “Two cases. I will work them for you without complaint if you don’t interfere.”

 _This is intolerable. What report did I miss?!_ “Of my own choice and at any time?”

“Of course.”

Mycroft nods his head once in agreement. “Done.” Sherlock hums angrily and turns to leave. For a second, Mycroft lets his confusion show on his face.

“Martin, Mycroft.” Sherlock turns back around. “This is what this is about. You failed him last time he went for his licence; I don’t want you interfering this time.”

Mycroft is…well he’s completely confused. “Martin? Father’s little brat? Why-“

Sherlock’s eyes flash and he lets out a low hiss. Clearly he does not like insults towards Martin, though Mycroft doesn’t understand why. It’s not like the man matters. For a second, he is reminded of the last time Sherlock defended Martin, but he cannot see the pattern or motive behind each move.

“I mean it Mycroft. Interfere, and I’ll never work a case for you again.”

With that, he storms out of Mycroft’s office.

 _That was odd… and he actually meant that last bit. Hmm…_ Mycroft made a small note to find Martin’s file. Clearly he had some influence on Sherlock or some hidden quality only Sherlock could see. It was worth investigating


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't the chapter I planned on posting, but I realised I had forgotten a major event... You're going to hate me, I think. Oh, and double posting because I'm going to be internet light (or free =( ) until at least Wednesday...
> 
> Umm- This chapter is unbetaed due to timezones and holidays but thanks to elvendork_lee for betaing the rest!

“ _Sherlock! Answer your damn phone.”_ It is the fifteenth time his phone has rung and Sherlock has answered only because it’s Martin and he doesn’t seem to be getting the message. Sherlock is currently waiting for Lestrade to get frustrated and call him on the interesting looking case with the locked door.

“I have answered my “damn phone”, Martin.”

 _“Oh.”_ Martin sounds stumped for a second, before suddenly changing topics. “ _Well, you should answer it. That’s what phones are for and phones are for answering and you should answer them.”_

It’s not a hard deduction to make. “Martin, you’re drunk.”

 _“You’re bloody well right I am. Why wouldn’t I be? Dad is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead. Dead.”_

For a second Sherlock is shocked, trying to figure out why Mycroft hadn’t told him. Then he realises _Martin said ‘Dad’. He means Mr Crieff._ Sherlock ignores the relief this thought causes as he speaks to Martin. ”How?”

 _“Oh, you can tell a stranger his life story, but not your brother how his dad died.”_ Martin snaps. He doesn’t apologise like he normally does, but continues on. _“Heart attack. A complete surprise if you couldn’t tell. He just…collapsed.”_

Sherlock’s blood runs cold as he realises his brother witnessed his Dad’s death. “Where are you Martin?”

 _“Home. Simon made it quite clear only Dad’s actual family was going to be at the house.”_

When Sherlock next meets Simon he is going to strangle the man. Or punch him. Whichever is easier. “Stay there Martin. I’ll be there in an hour.”

 _“… but you’re more than an hour away, how-“_

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

********

For the life of him, Sherlock will never remember how he made it from London to Fitton in just over an hour. He probably broke multiple laws, speed limits and greatly annoyed Mycroft but it was worth it.

Martin has passed out on the floor by the time he arrives. Sherlock rolls his brother into the recovery position and eyes the remaining bottle of alcohol. It, along with the almost finished bottle, is a cheap wine, clearly all Martin could afford. Sherlock debates the cost to Martin of the bottles being wasted, along with his money; compared to the possibly of him being hurt.

He pours the bottles down the sink and places a fifty pound note in Martin’s wallet. Hopefully, he will just think it’s something he picked up while drunk. That done, he moves Martin to the bed.

Checking his watch, he lies down on the bed behind Martin and settles in to wait for him to wake up.

********

Sherlock is in a light doze, when Martin starts to rouse. He snaps awake in an instant and waits for Martin to talk. He can detect when Martin awakes fully; his brother stiffens and then flinches at the bright light.

“Sherlock?” Martin asks his voice as soft and scared as when Sherlock first met him.

“I’m here.” Sherlock shifts on the bed so he is closer to Martin and able to place his arms around him.

“I miss him. He can’t be gone.” Sherlock can hear the tears in Martin’s voice. Unsure of what to say Sherlock tightens his grasp on Martin. “He was…we were just talking, Simon and I about…God I can’t even remember. Dad walked in with the coffee and he just-“

Martin breaks off with a sob. Sherlock rolls him over so they are now facing another and pulls Martin into his chest. Martin’s arms wrap around him and he begins to cry.

A tear rolls down Sherlock’s face at Martin’s pain. They stay on Martin’s bed together, until Martin cries himself to sleep.

********

 _Got a case for you. Interested? Lestrade_

 _Busy. SH_

 _What?_

 _B.U. S. Y. I did not realise that inability to read was one of your shortcomings. SH_

 _Ignoring the insults, it’s a locked door, airtight alibies and possibly of serial killer. Coming? Lestrade_

 _Still busy. SH_

 _And alibies not airtight for one suspect. SH_

 _Who?_

 _BUSY! Be back in town in time to prevent next murder. SH_

 _WHAT?! Sherlock!_

 _“The number you have called is switched off. Please try again later.”_

********

“Are you sure you want me there?” Sherlock is fixing his tie, even as he once again questions Martin’s decision to have him attend the funeral.

“Of course. Sherlock I…I don’t think I can do this without you there.” Martin hasn’t cried since the first night Sherlock came, but he never seems far from it when he speaks. He has borrowed a suit from Sherlock as his own had fallen apart when he got it out. It is slightly too long for him, but Sherlock was able to pin the sleeves and pant legs back so he doesn’t look silly.

Sherlock meets his brother’s eyes and nods at what he sees there. Grimacing, he fixes Martin’s tie and adjusts the suit jacket to a better position. After one last glance he gestures at Martin to lead the way.

Martin takes a deep breath and the brothers depart.

********

Sherlock blanks out most of the funeral. It is boring and for a man who means nothing to him, beyond what he did for Martin. There are few men Sherlock knows who would raise a child not their own as well as George Crieff did Martin, Simon aside.

In fact, the entire event can be summarised into a few key moments. There is the moment he and Martin arrived at the church and Caitlin almost knocked Martin over with her hug while Simon tried to kill Sherlock by glaring.

Then there’s the moment Simon pulled Sherlock aside to tell him he shouldn’t be here, not if he had any respect for Mr Crieff. Sherlock replies “ _I’m here because Martin needs me”_ and walks off.

Simon gives the eulogy and it is that moment Martin buries his head into Sherlock’s shoulder beside him and begins to quietly sob.

And finally, there is the moment when George Crieff is buried and Martin’s tears increase beyond anything Sherlock has ever seen.

********

“What was he like?” It is three hours later, and Sherlock is sitting beside Martin in his par-mother’s house. Mrs Crieff kept thanking Sherlock for being there for Martin, and quite happily welcomed him to stay the night when she told Martin he was staying, if only so she knew he was okay. Simon glared at him the entire time but stayed silent. Sherlock herded Martin into the living room, away from the rest of the family and they have been quietly drinking tea until Sherlock’s question.

It throws Martin. “What?”

“Your Dad. Tell me what he was like.”

“I…I… Fine. He was, well he was a kind man. He loved his football, he and Simon used to yell at the T.V for hours on end. I remember he tried to get me interested but I just wanted to pretend to fly. So he brought me Planey.”

Sherlock starts. “I thought that was a gift from your mother.”

“No, it was Dad’s gift to me. When I gave it to you, he was a bit upset until I told him why. Then he was very proud; said I was being so considerate. I didn’t know what that meant, but I was glad I was it.” Martin blinks away a tear at the happy memory. “Oh, and I remember how when he was teaching me to drive, we spent more time fixing the van than actually driving until he just basically said ‘screw it’ and borrowed Simon’s car while he and Simon rebuilt the engine. Not that I was any good at driving… at least, not for a long time.”

“He wanted you to be an electrician, didn’t he?”

Martin’s face sours a bit at the reminder. “Yes he did… he taught me everything he could about being one. He would have settled for me being a mechanic like Simon, even if it was for planes not cars.”

Sensing Martin’s thought are about to become sad again, Sherlock quickly directs Martin to happier memories. Martin starts to laugh when he recalls the time he and his father spent at an uncle’s farm chasing sheep.

The rest of the Crieffs wonder in, attracted by Martin’s laughing and they spend the rest of the evening recalling good memories of George Crieff.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double posting because I'm going to be internet light (or free =( ) until at least Wednesday.
> 
> Thanks to elvendork_lee for betaing!
> 
> Just in case it isn't clear, this is two years after the last chapter.

_ETA to your place -5 minutes. Be packed. SH_

 _Wait, what? Sherlock, why? MC_

 _London. SH_

 _…How long am I going to be there? MC_

 _A week. SH_

 _I can’t Sherlock, I have a job! MC_

 _Job is crap. ETA- 2 minutes. SH_

 _My job is not crap, I’m flying! Not packed. MC_

 _You fly the same route three times a week, and are paid almost nothing. You’re abused on a regular basis by each captain. You need a new job. ETA- 1 minute. SH_

 _…one week you said? MC_

 _Yes. SH_

 _Your boss is a drug smuggler anyway. SH_

********

“So what happened?”

Martin was sitting beside Sherlock on his sofa in his run down place on Montague Street. Sherlock had barely spoken for the entire trip to London, and now was more focused on staring at the horrible walls.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as reply. Martin continued on. “I mean, you normally give me at least an hour’s notice before wanting me to do something like this.”

Sherlock hums in reply. He shifts and pulls up his sleeve, where a bandage is clearly visible. Martin takes it gently in his hands and meets Sherlock’s eyes.

“How-?”

“A case. It’s nothing but Martin… Mycroft.” Suddenly Sherlock loses his temper. He pulls his arm out of Martin’s grasp and leaps out of his seat. “He’s going to stop me doing cases, I know he is!”

Martin stands up too and grabs Sherlock’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Sherlock. Mycroft’s not that cruel, and he’s not that stupid.”

“He is stupid. And fat.” Sherlock said childishly into Martin’s shoulder. But he relaxed into the hug.

“So, London for a week? Are we going to do what we did last time?” Martin said as he released Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked. “No. I’ve a better idea.”

********

Mycroft was very surprised when his phone started ringing and the caller ID said Sherlock. He was even more surprised when he answered it and it was Martin Crieff who was speaking.

 _“Mycroft, I don’t have much time until Sherlock realises I have his phone and I just want to say this. You can’t cut Sherlock off from his cases.”_

Mycroft frowned. “I think you’ll find I can. And I have to; it’s much too risky for him. I’m looking out for him.”

 _“It’s his life Mycroft, to do with as he pleases. And really… how long do you think it will be before Sherlock goes back on the drugs if you cut him off?”_

Mycroft sniffed in disapproval. “I have considered every angle, Martin and I am sure I can handle Sherlock.”

 _“Like you did last time?! Mycroft, you’ll ruin him in trying to protect him.”_

“He is my brother, I can handle him.”

 _“He’s my brother too Mycroft. And…”_

Martin suddenly stops speaking. Mycroft lets the silence reign for a minute before speaking. “Yes?”

 _“Nothing. You don’t understand do you Mycroft?”_

Martin’s voice is a little odd, but Mycroft ignores it. “I think you’ll find, Martin, it’s you who doesn’t understand. Sherlock is _my_ brother, not yours and I am going to protect him.”

 _“No you’re not Mycroft. You’re going to kill me with boredom.”_  Mycroft freezes as he realises that Martin and Sherlock have swapped during the call. _“And Martin is my brother, sometimes in more ways than you are.”_

The dial tone echoes as Sherlock hangs up.

********

“So the point of this game is…what exactly?” Martin is examining Sherlock’s newly dyed red hair. Now the only major difference between the brothers is their height. They are standing in what Sherlock assures Martin is a blind spot on Baker Street.

“To confuse Mycroft. He controls the CCTV and will be watching for the both of us after your call.”

“So, we’re… Oh!” Martin smirks. “Brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

********

Mycroft isn’t sure what’s happening. He’s been trying to meet with Sherlock and has sent out his people to pick him up. He is not surprised that Sherlock isn’t there; he didn’t expect his brother to be there. Neither is Martin, but that barely matters. He has one of his people monitoring the CCTV for any sign of either Sherlock or Martin, knowing they’ll probably be together.

But now, there’s something very odd. The man watching the CCTV has had a dozen sightings of Martin, on opposite sides of the city within minutes, or even seconds of another. Martin is using the blind spots, only appearing in shot for a few seconds at most.

It’s clear one Martin is Sherlock, but for the life of Mycroft he can’t figure out which one.

********

 _BORED. SH_

Martin gives a small laugh at his brother’s text. He understands the feeling, this is his first long standby with MJN and it’s not exactly the most interesting part of his new jo-hobby.

 _Am in Fitton. Unable to assist. Call that Lestrade man you keep mentioning. MC_

 _Did. He is boring. No one has died interestingly! SH_

 _Try checking your email? MC_

 _Can’t talk- ninja. SH_

 _…Ninja?! MC_

 _Ninja is unconscious. Still bored. SH_

 _Oh for goodness sake… MC_

“What are you giggling about over there Martin?” Martin’s new co-pilot’s Douglas asked. Martin took a second to bask in his “ _I’m the captain!!!!!”_ feeling before replying.

“Nothing. I’m not giggling.”

“I rather think you were.” Douglas drawled. “And I’m quite sure that you are trying to avoid the question. What is it over there at your desk that is so funny? God knows, I could use something to break up the boredom, no matter how boring it may itself be.”

“It’s nothing… just a text from a friend of mine.” Martin gives, in hopes it will appease Douglas and he will leave him alone.

Instead of satisfying Douglas, this seems to encourage him. “Ah… a ‘friend’. Would this friend happen to be a very good one?”

“A very good friend.”

Douglas smirked. “Oh, that kind of friend then.”

“What?! God, no. He’s my best friend and I’ve known him since I was four and God, no. Nothing like that.”

Douglas looks vaguely disappointed. Martin’s phone beeps again, cutting off the conversation.

 _Ninja left behind sword. Do you think John would allow me to use kitchen table to determine sharpness and strength of blade? SH_

 _NO!!!!!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said nothing until Wednesday. That was before I was woken up at this ungodly hour by the bloody wind and therefore now have many more hours before I lose my internet than I thought I would. So you get another chapter! =)

“Guess what, my happy little pilots!” Carolyn burst into the flight deck where Martin was revising safety procedures. Douglas was flinging birds on his phone.

“Arthur managed to cook something edible?” Douglas deadpanned.

“Goodness, no. I doubt that will ever happen, and if it does…well I believe it may be time to start attending church. No, my happy little pilots, we have a booking!”

“I highly doubt anything that follows those words could possibly make me any happier than I am now. Which isn’t very happy, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I did. I ignored it.”

Martin spoke up to cut short the snark session between Carolyn and Douglas. “Where are we going, and when?”

“Two days from now we are flying to Berlin, to pick up a Mr Cookson. We are then going to fly him to London, where we will spend anything up to two days, before flying him back to Berlin.”

Both pilots sighed.

“In two days?” Martin double checked. At Carolyn’s nod, he pulled out his phone.

********

 _In London for two days, in two days’ time. Is it possible for me to crash at your place? Just for the nights, I have to be at the airport…if it’s not okay that’_

 _It’s fine. Learn the character limit of texts for next time Martin. SH_

 _Oh. Thank you. MC_

 _You are always welcome. SH_

********

“Where are you going, Martin? Carolyn is currently negotiating our ride to the hotel over there, which is in the opposite direction to where you are currently going.” Douglas really had either the worst timing, or the best; Martin wasn’t sure. Whatever timing he had, it had just ruined Martin’s attempt to sneak away from the group and ring them later so they knew he was okay.

“I know that Douglas.” He sighed.

“If Sir knows that, why is Sir going in the wrong direction?” By now, Arthur had reached them and Carolyn was on her way over. Martin was going to have to tell everyone.

“I’m not. I have my own place to stay while we’re in London.”

“Really Martin? And when were you planning on telling me this?” Carolyn asked, having reached them. Arthur was beside her, his usual look of confusion on his face.

“Umm… I was planning on telling you… when we landed but then you walked off, and I figured I could just call you later and tell you I’m…not dead.” He finished lamely at Carolyn’s stormy look. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m telling you now. I have a place to stay and you can have the money from my hotel room.” He turned to go.

“Where?” Douglas drawled.

Martin turned back. “What?”

“Where is Sir planning on staying? I do believe it would be easier to get a hold of Sir, if we knew were you are staying.”

“My brother’s place in Central London.” A confused Martin answered without thinking. He flinched at as Arthur spoke.

“But Skip…you said your brother lived in Bristol. Remember, that time when we diverted there.”

Ignoring Carolyn’s muttered “Which of the many times?” Martin replied. “I did.”

“Then…did he move?”

Martin closed his eyes. “No, Simon did not move.”

“See, now I’m lost Skip. How can your brother live in two places?” While Arthur did indeed look lost; Douglas looked suspicious.

“He doesn’t. Simon lives in Bristol, Sherlock lives in Central London.”

Douglas snorted. “Sherlock?! What kind of name is that?”

Martin froze. “A very good one.” He said coldly. “Goodbye Carolyn, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without another word, he walked off, leaving a confused and slightly guilty crew behind him.

“Somehow, I think I may have gone too far.”

********

Sherlock wasn’t home when Martin reached 221B Baker Street, but the landlady had been told to expect him and was quite happy to let him in. Mrs Hudson was a lovely woman, who offered him tea and biscuits while carefully observing him, most likely noting every similarity between the two brothers. Martin was used to it from people who knew Sherlock and so ignored it. He took a seat on the sofa against one wall, and stared at the skull. _Wonder what its name is…_

The tea was quite nice though. After a half hour, he convinced Mrs Hudson to leave him alone, that he would be fine by himself and _no I don’t need another biscuit, I’ve already had a dozen._

The sound of voices on the stairs woke him. _Must have dozed off…_

“I don’t know where he is Inspector! Don’t you think I’m worried too!” an unfamiliar voice yelled just before the door flew open. Martin barely had time to get to his feet before three people entered the flat. In front was a short blonde man, who Martin recognised from his brother’s stories as John Watson; followed by a grey haired man who had to be Lestrade and a dark woman who Martin was pretty sure had to be the infamous Donovan.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade cried. “We’ve been looking for you all over.” Both he and Donovan looked mad. Only John looked confused.

Martin stuttered. “I’m…I’m not Sherlock Inspector.”

“Practicing your acting abilities, are you Freak?” Donovan asked. “I would like to know how you make yourself shorter-“

Martin snapped. “I don’t make myself shorter, I am shorter than Sherlock. And I would appreciate you not calling my brother a ‘freak’. Just because he’s ten times as smart as you-“

“Martin!” Sherlock’s voice interrupted Martin’s rant to the dumbfounded cops. He was coming up the stairs and had a stripe of blood across his face. It didn’t stop him pushing past the police to hug Martin briefly, before moving into the flat. The wide eyes of Lestrade and Donovan grew even larger. Even John looked a bit wrong footed.

“Sherlock, you’re hurt!”

Sherlock waved a careless hand at Martin as he began to look through his piles of paper. “It’s nothing. If Lestrade can act intelligently for once I may be able to catch a serial killer.” He pulled out something from a box and pocketed it. He then examined Martin briefly and threw the skull at him, with a discreet nod at the police officers. Martin only just caught it but recognised it as the replacement for Planey. Sherlock always knew when he was upset.

“Sherlock, are you going to introduce us before you show off, or do I have to wait until after?” John asked, moving to stand beside Martin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but did as requested. “Martin, this is John Watson my flatmate. John this is Ma- Captain Martin Crieff, my brother.” Martin smiled at the use of his title and shook hands with John.

“I’m very ha- pleased to meet you John. It’s nice to have a face to go with Sherlock’s stories.”

John looked vaguely flattered. “Stories? Sherlock tells stories about me?”

“In a hundred and sixty characters. I, ah, look forward to the day Sherlock learns to call.”

Martin didn’t duck the pillow thrown at him. He collapsed back onto the sofa with an “uff” and a smile.

“How can you be brothers? You don’t share a last-“

“Oh Donovan. Are you competing with Anderson for title of dumbest police officer of the year?! Martin and I are half- brothers through our father.” Sherlock looked disgruntled. “He was raised by his mother’s husband and so has his name. Obvious.” He crossed the room to Lestrade and handed him a piece of paper.

“What’s this Sherlock?”

“A plan for you so you can catch your killer.” He walked into the kitchen and began banging cupboard doors.

“Wait, aren’t you coming with us?”

Sherlock poked his head back out. “My brother is only in town two days. I’m hardly going to waste them catching your serial killer for you.”

Dumbfounded Lestrade dragged the confused Donovan out. John sat in his armchair, giving Martin a searching look.

“Chinese?” Sherlock asked.

“Thai, if you have it.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back (Harry Potter 7- Amazing btw!!!!) ! Not sure if this lives up to people's expectations, but I hope you like!
> 
> Thanks to elvendork_lee for betaing!

John wasn’t sure what was odder, how he spent the night or who he spent it with. Coming home he had expected a night of chases, death-defying stunts and quite possibly no sleep.

Instead he had spent the night watching Sherlock interact with his brother. The differences in the way Martin and Sherlock interacted when compared to how Mycroft and Sherlock interacted were striking. Every discussion between Mycroft and Sherlock was a battle, part of a carefully waged war. Every word had a double or triple meaning and no thought went unnoticed.

With Martin, there was none of that. With Martin, Sherlock was by far the most relaxed John had ever seen. And Martin seemed to adore his older brother, complimenting him as much as, if not more than John did. Sherlock had ordered in Thai from one of the many restaurants that owed him a favour and Martin had produced a bottle of wine from his bag that had been a ‘gift’ from his employer. For some reason that had made Sherlock start _giggling_ and after a moment Martin had joined in.

At first Martin had stumbled over his words when talking to John, had restated everything and acted a complete fool. Finally Sherlock had snapped from his position beside Martin on the sofa.

“For goodness sake Martin, he likes you! You don’t have to try for a good impression and if you were you failed half an hour ago.”

Martin was taken back but then he smiled shyly and apologised. After that, he became more animated, talking about his beloved planes with great enthusiasm.  John had found himself almost crying with laughter as Martin relayed tales of his flights with MJN- even Sherlock had laughed at the story of the Douz escape involving a fire truck and the Scottish Cricket team.

Currently Martin was asleep, his head resting gently on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock was still recounting one of his earlier cases to John and seemed to be ignoring his sleeping brother. But every so often, he would briefly glance at the head on his shoulder before looking at John again.

“You’re very alike, aren’t you?” John suddenly said.

Sherlock frowned. “Are you going to start mimicking Anderson and state the obvious, John?”

“No, not just in appearance. In personality. You both have a single minded determination to do something, and you both adore talking about it. He may not be as smart as you, but he’s very much like you…just with an understanding of personal relationships, if not a lot of ability in creating them.”

Sherlock blinked. “I’ve…never thought of it that way.” He ran his hand over Martin’s curls without thought. “He’s just…Martin. The single constant in my life, who never acts like I expect.” 

“You adore him, don’t you?” 

Sherlock smiled. “See John. You are getting better at making deductions.”

********

Martin awoke to find himself in a strange bed. He was used to sleeping in cheap hotel and therefore strange beds but… Normally they weren’t this comfortable. Curling up a bit more, he tried to sink more into sleep.

“You’re not looking after yourself.” A familiar voice cut through his doze and Martin sat up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. It was then it clicked- he was staying with Sherlock and by the looks of it had just spent the night in Sherlock’s bed. Sherlock was now sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes narrowed and expression firm.

“You’re one to talk.” Martin snapped back once he processed what Sherlock had said. “You never take care of yourself.”

“It’s different, it’s necessary. I can’t think while digesting. You, on the other hand, can’t afford to care for yourself.”

“I get by.” Martin lowered his graze, unable to meet Sherlock’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t be just ‘getting by’.”

“I don’t have any other option Sherlock. I can’t…won’t leave MJN and they can’t afford to pay me. The only way I can make money on my van is to be as cheap as I am-“

“Which is never going to help you.”

Martin suddenly started yelling. “What else can I do Sherlock?! I’m finally living my dream; I just have to make it work somehow.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, Sherlock. It’s just-“

Sherlock cut Martin off as he pulled his brother into his arms. “I know Martin.” Silently Sherlock vowed to help his brother somehow. _I didn’t realise how badly off you were Martin. I’m sorry for that…_

“Tea?” A voice from the doorway spooked both brothers and they broke apart as they turned to see John standing there, holding a tea cup and a stuffed plane.

“Oh and this was on the sofa, is it yours Martin?”

Martin stared at Planey in complete shock before he began to smirk. “No, that hasn’t been mine since I was seven.”

John blinked, then began to smile as the implications of what Martin was saying sunk in. “This is yours, Sherlock?”

A stormy look on his face, Sherlock got up and brushed past John, liberating Planey from his flatmate’s grasp as he did. Ten seconds later the front door slams as Sherlock leaves on one of his mysterious errands.

“He’s not heartless, you know. He does actually care about y-people. He cares about people but just never shows, people always think he doesn’t-” Martin suddenly said. John met his eyes with a smile.

John held up a hand to stop Martin speaking. “I know Martin. I know.”

“Oh. That’s good then. I’m glad-“

John laughs. “My God, you are like your brother. It’s…uncanny sometimes.”

Martin looks flattered. “Really?”

John smiles kindly. “Yes. Now, eggs and bacon okay for breakfast? I want to eat them before your brother gets it into his head to experiment on them.”

It sounds like a feast to Martin. “Yes, those are perfectly fine. Say, does Sherlock still put body parts in the fridge? That was probably the worst part of staying with him…”

John finishes Martin’s statement. “The surprises in the fridge? Yeah…bit cat like really.” Martin smiles as he moves to stand beside John. John smiles back.

“So, Martin how exactly did Sherlock end up with your stuffed plane?”

Together they sit down to breakfast, swapping increasing outrageous stories about Sherlock until Martin has to leave for the airport.

Planey sits on the sofa for the rest of the day.  


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter... I hope you all like it!
> 
> I am probably going to end up writing out takes, and extra scenes so if there's anthing you want to read let me know. There was also a great prompt in the Cabin Pressure Meme I might write in this verse... Moriarty v Martin, if anyone is interested. =)
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone! You guys are awesome! =D

“I do believe I owe you an apology, Martin.” Martin looked up to see Douglas standing in the door to the flight deck. Martin had been ridiculously early in arriving at Gerti, beating the rest of the crew by at least an hour. _They must have slept in, or something_ Martin had grumbled while waiting.

It took a second for the memory to come to him, but once it did, he nodded. “You do. Thank you.”

Douglas took his seat. “You’re early Captain. I would have thought you would be with your brother.”

“Hmm? Oh, no. Sherlock had a case; he wants to get it solved by tonight so we can go out.”

Sherlock had texted Martin his plans just before Martin had to leave, to John’s amazement.” _He never texts me his plans”_ John had complained before looking Martin over. _“So, what’s your secret?”_ Blushing, Martin had fled.

“Oh. So your brother’s in the police then.” Douglas’ voice brought Martin back into the conversation and out of his thoughts.

Martin gave Douglas an odd look. “No…”

When he didn’t continue Douglas prompted him further. “So… was kind of case did he have then?”

“Oh, just a murder. Quite boring really. But he owes Mycroft a case, so…what? Why are you looking at me like that Douglas?”

Douglas tried to remove the odd look from his face. “No reason. Do we get to meet this brother of yours?”

Martin suddenly had his “captain in headlights” look on his face. “Umm… well, maybe. Possibly, I’ll have to ask Sherlock but he probably just wants… maybe not.”

 “I see. Don’t want your brother to meet us then. Scared Arthur’s going to embarrass you?” try as he might, Douglas can’t keep the small note of hurt out of his voice.

“What?! No… it’s just… Sherlock’s well… I adore him but… he’s a little, intense. I don’t want you to hate him too.”

 _There’s a story behind that last statement,_ Douglas thinks. “Perhaps-“

It’s then Arthur walks into the cabin, shouting excitedly about the London Eye and begging to go. It distracts both pilots and Douglas notices how carefully Martin avoids being left alone with him the rest of the day.

********

It’s a complete surprise then, when Douglas receives a text from Martin. He is in the taxi with Carolyn and Arthur on the way to their hotel when it comes.

_I’m sorry about earlier. Want to have dinner with us? Bring Arthur and Carolyn. MC_

_Of course. Where?_

_Angelo's. Northumberland Street. Half an hour? MC_

_Your treat?_

_Angelo's. MC_

_…What?_

_Half an hour. Ask for Sherlock Holmes. MC_

********

Completely confused, the crew of MJN arrive at Angelo's half an hour after Martin’s mysterious texts. Holding his head high, Douglas enters the restaurant.

“Ah, can I help you?” the server asks.

“Yes. I was told to ask for Sherlock Holmes?”

It is like Douglas has said the magic words. The man’s face changes, lighting up with delight. “Ah, yes! Mr Holmes said he was excepting you. They’re sitting back there.”

He gestures to the back of the restaurant, where Martin is sitting with a slightly older blonde man. Douglas dismisses the thought this is Martin’s brother- there is no resemblance between them. Martin looks up and meets Douglas’ eyes, and his mouth drops open in shock.

“Douglas! Arthur, Carolyn! What are you guys doing here?” he half rises out of his seat as they approach his table.

“What do you mean, what are we doing here?” Carolyn snaps. “You invited us. By texting Douglas! And I do hope you’re paying for this.” She ignores Arthur, who has started to tug on her shirt with small “Mum”s. Douglas pulls his phone out to double check it was Martin who texted him.

Martin sits down, still completely confused. Suddenly, he starts patting himself down, checking his pockets. He slumps once it’s done. “Sherlock.”

Carolyn and Douglas share a bemused look. “Your brother?” Douglas asks.

“I want it back.” Martin’s eyes aren’t on them anymore, but on a point behind them. They turn and freeze. Martin is standing behind them.

But he’s not. This Martin is too tall to be their captain, and has far darker hair. He is examining them, with a glance that seems to be x-raying them; spying all their secrets and dismissing them in a millisecond.

Martin stands. “Oh, umm… Guys this is my brother Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, these are-“

“Douglas Richardson and Carolyn and Arthur Knapp-Shappey.” Sherlock finished, nodding to each in turn. He pulls out a phone, that Douglas recognises as Martin’s and tosses it to his brother.

Arthur’s face lit up. “Wow Skip! You didn’t tell us your brother was magic!”

Sherlock frowned. “It’s not magic, it’s common sense. Logic.”

Martin smirked. “Sorry Arthur, but Sherlock’s not magic.” He stopped to consider something, and then with a mischievous smile added “He is a mind reader though-“

“What really?!” Arthur cried happily at the same time Sherlock growled “Martin!” clearly realising from Martin’s stories what would happen.

The blonde man, having witnessed everything and been forgotten by the MJN crew, begins to laugh. Sherlock gives him a dirty look, but takes his seat by him.

Martin smiles at the man and then seems to realise he has forgotten him. “Oh and this is Dr John Watson, Sherlock’s partner.”

“Flatmate.” John corrects with a slight glare at Martin. Martin just raises his eyebrows and gives his brother a confused look. Sherlock pointedly didn’t meet his brother’s eyes.

John shook his head and spoke to the bemused MJN crew. “Well since Sherlock obviously invited you guys, would you like to join us for dinner? It’s on the house, Angelo owes Sherlock a favour.”

“We would love to.” Carolyn said regally, as she took a seat. Douglas sat beside her and Arthur bounced into the seat beside Sherlock.

“Are you Skips’ twin? Like an evil twin? But not, because Skip’s not evil and anyone who looks like him can’t be evil either. Or is that just clones…”

Sherlock just looked bemused. He gave Martin a look, before answering. “Martin and I are not twins. I am four years older.”

“What did Martin mean earlier when he called you a ‘mind reader’?” Douglas asked. Martin looked half amused, half terrified and half apprehensive (Douglas could never figure out how Martin managed three halves) at the question.

Sherlock met Douglas’ eyes. “He meant that I can tell you that you have been married three times, with only one child- a daughter most likely. You’re a recovering alcoholic, been sober for a long time. You’re a smooth talker, used to getting your way the majority of the time. You don’t have a lot of money, but you like the finer things in life so-“

“Sherlock.” John suddenly said in a warning tone. Sherlock grimaced but shut up.

Douglas looked livid. “And did Martin tell you all those things?!” he said as he glared at his co-worker.

Martin looked hurt. “I didn’t say a word! I didn’t need to; it’s Sherlock he knows everything.”

“Your longing glance at Martin’s wine told me you’re a recovering alcoholic, your wedding ring the number of marriages.” Sherlock explained, pointing to each item in turn. “I got the existence of your daughter from the brief glance of your phone I got- your wallpaper is of her. I’ll admit, Martin’s stories gave you away as a smooth talker, but that was obvious the moment you started talking. Shall I go on?”

Douglas frowns. “I see what you meant earlier Martin. No, I don’t wish you to go on, Mr Holmes.”

“Sherlock please.” Sherlock turns his attention to Arthur, who has been staring at him in shock the entire time he spoke. “You’re having the nuggets and chips. Really?”

Arthur jumps in surprise. “How did you know?!”

“I traced where your sight line was, calculated the probability of you picking each meal compared to another and then-“

Martin interrupts. “He guessed.”

“Never guess.”

“Yes you do.” Martin and John stated in unison. They shot each other confused looks, and then John smiled. Martin answered it after a second.

“Wow, Skip… your brother really is magic! Is that why he has a different last name to you?” Arthur had asked the question that both Carolyn and Douglas had wanted to ask, but without the tact they were going to use.

To Douglas’ surprise, Martin smiles. “No, Sherlock and I have different names because we’re only half-brothers. Not that that matters. Half is better than none, and-“

“We get the picture Martin.” Carolyn interrupts before her pilot builds up a rhythm. “So, Sherlock, what is it you do for a living?”

And with that, Sherlock is off, talking on and on about his cases while John interjects occasionally to add drama or criticise Sherlock’s complete devotion to only telling the facts.

Martin watches as one part of his family interacts with the other and feels content.

_Mycroft watches the dinner party through the security cameras of the restaurant, and wonders where he went wrong. When Sherlock flips the camera off from under the table he takes the hint, and turns the camera off._

__

__  
THE END (For now...)  


 


End file.
